


An Easy Out

by charlotteschaos



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Crowley meet at the crucifixion of Christ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Easy Out

"This could go on for days, you know."   
  
Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight of God's only son (If only. Much like the Greek and Roman gods, the God was terribly lascivious and like an actual thief in the night, tended to sweep in, have a few drinks, spin his Godly tales and quicker than you can say hallelujah, another immaculate conception was performed. This happened right up until God figured out immaculate contraception, which is why there are so few messiahs running about these days.) hanging from the cross to lay eyes on Crowley.  
  
Normally, angels weren't given to lustful thoughts as they weren't particularly sexual unless they really tried. On some occasions, for instance, wearing little other than a Roman uniform in the heat, Aziraphale was tempted to  _try_. However, a sharp wind blew through kicking up the stench of decay and offal and whatever burgeoning  _try_  was happening ceased its attempt.  
  
"I am aware of that," Aziraphale answered, crossing his arms to conceal his well-cared-for hands from the reek.  
  
"You could stop this, you know. You should stop this. That's God's only begotten son and it's looking like a victory for us."   
  
Crowley looked out of the corner of his eye at Aziraphale, who worked to conceal his smirk.  
  
"A victory? Think so, do you?"   
  
Whether he knew something about how much begetting God got up to or he was simply giving a smirking reply for the covenant that was to come was left up to the reader to decide.  
  
"It's a horrible way to go, really. Takes some of these poor men days." Crowley shifted to his other foot, looking unhappy that his nemesis didn't seem in the least unsettled by seeing the righteous being tormented. Something was up. "You could perform a miracle, you know. Or is this another one of those false alarm messiahs?"  
  
Pressing his lips together, Aziraphale finally deigned to spare Crowley another obvious look. "That would be telling."  
  
"You didn't come for the other ones."  
  
"Didn't I? Well, there was little to do today. Tired of studying scrolls, I suppose."   
  
Deciding that he would like to show off his hands, Aziraphale spread his fingers out before him, examining them, how clean they were in spite of how many hours he spent writing and copying.   
  
"I suppose your hygiene needs were all sorted so you might as well watch someone die. Someone that might take days to do so?"   
  
Crowley bent down to deal with some sand or... something... in his shoe. Aziraphale took the opportunity to make sure that his skirt did not fly up, as even though they were enemies, there was no need for Crowley to be flashing innocent people. Although whom he believed innocent that attended executions wasn't something to which he'd given much consideration.   
  
"I have some free time."  
  
"He has quite an audience. His poor girlfriend, she watched the beatings and everything."  
  
It might've been touching if Crowley seemed sorry.   
  
"That's not his girlfriend."  
  
"Wife, sure. Fine. She washed his feet with her hair, that's love and devotion right there. I can barely get--"  
  
Aziraphale held his hand up and shook his head. Christ's followers wept from where he was to the safe distance of the hillside. Aziraphale and Crowley stood closer to the cross, neither wanted to miss what might happen. No need to get  _that close_  to the action.   
  
"He will be missed."  
  
For a few more hours, Crowley and Aziraphale stood there, watching the brutally disfigured man shudder and writhe on the cross, thorns lodging into his head, his body unable to find any ease in its nailed position. The women lamented, the men wept, and still the place continued to smell like sick and death.   
  
"Oh honestly, enough," said Crowley.  
  
"It is finished," said Jesus.  
  
"Did you just...?"   
  
Aziraphale looked to Crowley angrily, hands in his hips as the mourners keened and bellowed, rending their garments in their misery.  
  
"What? You weren't going to save him."  
  
"That's not the point!" Aziraphale huffed, crossing his arms as he headed towards the hill.   
  
"What was the point? I had things to do; I couldn't stand about waiting for him to die. I was thinking about having my feet washed, or perhaps a bacchanal. What do you care? Were there supposed to be unicorns jumping out of his chest later? Were you waiting for? A date?"  
  
Having had enough of this conversation, Crowley started towards the city.   
  
"A date? What use would I have for a date?" No such luck in avoiding Aziraphale. He was hot on his heels. "It was supposed to be a beautiful, prolonged suffering that would speak to the ages of great sacrifice. You cut it down to what? Three to six hours!"  
  
"That's plenty of suffering, believe me," Crowley answered, thinking that this already felt like six hours of suffering. "Look. We wanted him dead; you wanted him dead; for whatever reasons they may have been, Jesus of Nazareth is dead. Everyone's got a gold star on their record, and those who are suffering for good reasons are doing so, and those who are rejoicing for their... rejoicing reasons are having a party right now, so perhaps you should find something else to do."  
  
Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Technically, Crowley was right. Jesus was to die and he had. There hadn't been a specification on how long he had to be on the cross, so perhaps it was all right. Maybe if he made the beating beforehand sound really horrific, it would still work -- he'd simply have to couch it  _just so_.   
  
Turning to look back on the scene, he watched a soldier stab into Jesus' side, and nothing happened. Well, the body was dead; what was anyone expecting? On a whim, not really planning what was likely to come out of a gash like that, as he wasn't an expert on such things, he caused water and blood to fall from Jesus' wound.  
  
And there was much rejoicing. 


End file.
